


The Colonists

by Orinoco_II



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, M/M, Team Adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2020-11-25 22:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20919899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orinoco_II/pseuds/Orinoco_II
Summary: When a spaceship crash lands from the future, Torchwood must race against the clock to evacuate the survivors.





	1. Prologue

The sky over South Wales was still and clear. The near-full moon cast a crisp glow over the sloping fields. In the distance, traffic zipped steadily along the motorway but on the hills, it was silent bar the occasional quiet bleat and ruminating of the sheep that lay in the soft grass.

Above, the muffled roar of a distant aircraft became discernible. A bright spot came into view in the inky black sky, blinking lights coming into focus as it flew lower. It’s course, however, was unusual. The angle of descent was too steep for it to be heading for the airport.

It was travelling too fast. The sound of its engines grew louder and louder as it shot through the sky and some of the sheep now gazed up curiously at this hulk hurtling towards them. As it grew larger and closer, it became obvious that this was not an aeroplane. It was too large, its fuselage too wide and its wings too stubby.

Now the craft became recognisable as a space shuttle, its underbelly ablaze with the heat of re-entry into the atmosphere. And it was headed straight for the field.

With an almighty thunderous screech, the shuttle smashed into the ground, scattering panicking sheep in all directions. The twisted wreckage was half-embedded in the soft earth, steam rising from the flames extinguished by contact with the evening dew.

In the bright moonlight, the name emblazoned in bold black lettering above the buried nose cone could be clearly read: MAYFLOWER.

*

Almost simultaneously, an office at the Senedd building in Cardiff Bay lay empty, its occupants long since departed for the night. Rows of desks had been abandoned: some meticulously tidy, some strewn with paperwork. Blank computer screens stared vacantly out at the room and a few mechanical lights blinked randomly in the gloom. All of a sudden, the silence was shattered by a piercing alarm.


	2. Chapter One

Sergeant Andy Davidson felt his head drop yet again and hoped it had gone unnoticed. He rubbed at his eyes and refocused on the street outside his squad car. Bundles of Saturday night drinkers stumbled drunkenly from pubs to clubs, mostly ignoring the police car parked amongst them. Some of the more confident thumped on the bonnet, jeered and made lewd gestures at them. Andy just loved the Saturday night Cardiff Bay patrol.

Beside him in the passenger seat sat his new partner Brian. They hadn’t hit it off but the boss had given them another month to sort their partnership out. Brian Anderson was middle-aged, beer-bellied and the sort of bloke who had joined to Force to exert power over others. It rankled with him and his permanent leer that he was still a constable after all these years.

He pointed out a group of a young women tottering along the pavements on high heels. “Which one of them would you do then?” Brian asked.

Inwardly, Andy rolled his eyes. “You’re old enough to be their father.”

“Oh, come on mate,” Brian snorted. “It’s only a laugh.”

Andy was saved from the conversation by the radio crackling into life. “Alarm going off at the Senedd,” the operator’s fuzzy voice announced. “Any squad cars in the area?”

Andy grabbed the radio. “This is Sergeant Davidson,” he announced. “PC Anderson and I are in the Bay. We’ll take a look.”

*

The view from this vantage point, Arthur Robinson had to admit, was outstanding. If he turned his head to his left, he could see the lights of Cardiff Bay twinkling beyond the floor to ceiling windows of his penthouse apartment. If he looked down, he could see the lithe young man curled at the foot of his king-sized bed paying lavish attention to his crotch. He let his eyes momentarily flutter closed as his hips jerked in pleasure.

The bliss was shattered by his phone ringing. The young man looked up enquiringly.

“Don’t stop,” Arthur urged, running a hand through the man’s short hair. The fingers of his left hand scrabbled about on his bedside table and located his mobile. “DI Robinson,” he answered, panting.

“It’s Mandy,” his sergeant told him. “There’s been a break-in down at the Senedd.”

“Yeah?” Arthur replied with a gasp.

“Oh God,” she replied, her tone suggesting disgust but not surprise. “Are you having sex right now?”

Arthur felt his orgasm building and he held his phone away from the bed as he came violently. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, taking a moment before he brought the phone back to his ear. “Not anymore. Why are you calling me?”

“There’s been a break-in at the Senedd,” Willis repeated. “They want CID to go because it’s government. You’re on call.”

“I’m on my way.” Arthur hung up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Thanks for that,” he told his guest. “I’m afraid I have to go.” Walking across the room, he pulled open his wardrobe and began to dress. “Work,” he explained. “You can see yourself out, can’t you?”

“Sure,” the man replied. He rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow to watch Arthur dressing.

Arthur raised an eyebrow as he tied his tie and regarded the man’s groin. “Such a shame,” he sighed, grabbing his keys and heading for the door.

*

There were two uniforms waiting in the lobby of the Senedd when Arthur arrived. One was young with sandy hair, the other a classic flat foot with paunch. They were standing by the security desk as Arthur strode across the lobby towards them. A twitchy-looking security guard sat behind the desk.

“What have we got?” Arthur asked without introduction. He assumed they would know who he was – he was somewhat renowned around the station.

“An intruder appearing from nowhere, sir,” said the younger officer.

“CCTV?” Arthur asked.

“Here.” The officer thumbed towards the screen behind the desk.

Arthur vaulted over the desk and motioned the security guard out of his seat. He hastily got up and Arthur settled himself into the reclining chair. The two uniforms peered over the desk to watch as the security guard leaned over Arthur’s shoulder and hit play. They watched grainy footage of an empty office for a few seconds before there was a sudden blaze of light in the middle of the room. A woman in black combat gear appeared from nowhere between a printer and a pot plant. She looked around in confusion, checked something on her wrist and in the next frame she was gone.

“She leaves via a fire escape,” the younger officer supplied. The security guard switched screens and played the footage of the woman disappearing through a fire door. “And then steals a car,” he added, as the footage switched to the street outside the Senedd. “Security cameras picked it up heading west on the M4 towards Swansea.”

“HG14 WRD,” Arthur read from the screen. He grabbed a biro from the security desk and wrote the registration number on the back of his hand. “What’s your name?” he asked the officer.

“Sergeant Andy Davidson sir.”

“Alright, Sergeant Davidson, with me,” Arthur told him, leaping back over the desk.

“What about me?” Flatfoot asked.

Arthur looked him up and down and then grinned. “Not my type.”

Flatfoot’s lip curled in disgust as Arthur strode towards the door with Davidson in tow.

*

Ianto Jones was a determined man. He had fought aliens and monsters and lived to tell the tale. This was not beyond him. He would not give up. He took a deep breath and went in for one more attack.

Aha. Finally, the odd yellow stain around the plughole was gone. He sat back on his haunches, satisfied, and wiped his forehead on the shoulder of his t-shirt. This was more enjoyable than he had anticipated. His bathroom was long overdue a cleaning, so he had donned his marigolds and was polishing it until it gleamed.

He heard movement behind him and Jack appeared in the bathroom doorway, eating yogurt with a dessert spoon straight from a family-sized pot. “This isn’t what I thought you meant when you said you had something urgent that needed doing,” he griped.

“You’re next on my to-do list, I promise,” Ianto told him, still scrubbing away at the bath with the limescale remover.

Jack sighed and sat down on the closed toilet lid, watching Ianto as he shovelled in the yogurt. Ianto was turning on the shower head to rinse out the bath when he felt fingers tickling the back of his neck.

He squirmed. “Stop it,” he told Jack. “Unless you want me to spray you too?”

Jack put the yogurt down on the back of the sink and leant forward, mouth by Ianto’s ear. “Sounds like fun.” His breath tickled on Ianto’s cheek.

“Seriously,” Ianto admonished. “Five minutes and I’m all yours.”

“I’m not that patient.” Jack’s hands landed on Ianto’s shoulders, massaging gently, as he nuzzled into Ianto’s hair with his nose.

Ianto knew that the bathroom was a lost cause. He sighed resignedly and turned off the tap. “Fine.” He peeled off the marigolds and twisted in Jack’s grip, finding his mouth for a kiss.

They hadn’t got far when they were interrupted by an insistent beeping from the living room. They both groaned and Jack reluctantly went to retrieve the rift monitor. He brought it back to the bathroom where Ianto was sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the bath. He turned the small monitor so that Ianto could see it. ‘RIFT ALERT’ was flashing in intrusive red on the screen.

*

Gwen and Rhys sat opposite one another at the small table in their flat, a large package of greasy chips open between them. It had been Gwen’s turn to cook. Rhys wasn’t brave enough to admit that he had been relieved when Gwen had come home with an enormous portion of chips from the chippy on the corner. They were about to close, she’d explained, and had sold her everything they had left for a couple of quid.

Rhys took a swig from his bottle of beer and picked up another chip. They were soggy with vinegar, just the way they both liked them. “So…are we going to talk about it?” he tentatively enquired.

Gwen regarded him from under her fringe as she munched on a chip. “What’s to talk about?” she asked.

“Babies, Gwen,” Rhys sighed, frustrated. “You said we could talk about it.”

Gwen frowned. “For God’s sake Rhys, I said yes, just not yet,” she snapped, gesticulating with her own bottle of beer.

“When then?” Rhys pressed. “What are we waiting for? I was reading the other day about the dangers of women over 30 having babies.”

“Oi!” Gwen retorted. Whatever she was about to say next was cut off by her phone ringing. She pointed accusatively across the table. “Don’t think you’re getting away with that one.” She wiped her greasy fingers on a paper napkin and answered her phone. “Ianto – what can I do for you?”

Rhys rolled his eyes and grabbed a fistful of conciliatory chips, knowing that the discussion was over for the foreseeable future.


	3. Chapter Two

As the Torchwood SUV bumped into the rutted field, the source of the rift alert became patently obvious. Towering above the parked SUV was the hulk of a wrecked space shuttle. Its nose was embedded deep into the soil and its steaming fuselage had left a deep gouge scored through the field behind it.

Jack, Gwen and Ianto stepped out of the SUV and stood taking in the crash site. Bunches of people were milling around outside the shuttle: some bent double, vomiting into the grass; others comforting them.

“They look human,” Gwen observed.

“They are,” said Ianto.

“How would you know?”

Ianto pointed up at the side of the shuttle. Gwen followed his arm and spotted the familiar blue, white and red NASA logo. “Oh.”

“It’s the Mayflower,” Jack breathed quietly, eyes moving from the logo to the name of the shuttle, stamped starkly above the nose cone.

“You know about this?” Gwen asked.

“It’s a moon shuttle,” Jack explained. “Took colonists to the moon. It disappears in about a hundred years’ time.”

“And now we know why,” Gwen mused as she began to walk towards the ship.

“Wait,” Jack said sharply. Gwen stopped and turned to him curiously. “These shuttles were nuclear,” he told her. “Chances are it’s leaking radiation.”

Ianto was already on his way back to the car and emerged a few moments later brandishing a Geiger counter. As he brought it over, Gwen and Jack could hear the staccato crackling.

Jack pointed forcefully at them. “You two need to suit up.”

“What about you?” Gwen queried, stance already defiant.

Jack gave a vague hand wave. “No need.”

“Surely it’ll make you sick, even if it can’t kill you?” she pushed.

“I know from experience that radiation doesn’t affect me,” Jack assured her mysteriously.

Gwen shook her head, realising she was going to get nothing more from him, as so many times before, and followed Ianto to the boot of the SUV where he was already pulling on a standard-issue unflattering and cumbersome yellow Hazmat suit. Gwen struggled into her own suit just in time to see a woman in a dishevelled military uniform crossing the field towards them.

“Are you from NASA?” the woman asked. There were streaks of grey in the dark hair that she pushed back off her face.

“Not exactly,” Jack dodged.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked suspiciously, voice hoarse.

“We’re the closest you’re gonna get tonight,” Jack clarified. “Are you the pilot?”

“Captain Samuels.” She held out a hand.

Jack shook it. “Jack Harkness. What happened?”

“One of the engines blew,” Samuels explained. “There was nothing I could do except an emergency landing. Now the engines are leaking radiation. My chief engineer is dead and we don’t have the expertise. Can you help?”

Jack exchanged a ‘here we go again’ look with Gwen and Ianto and then turned back to the captain. “We’ll give it a go,” he told her.

“How many people were on board the shuttle?” Gwen asked.

“Fifty-six civilians and seven crew.”

“How many survivors?”

“We don’t know yet,” Samuels said. “We’re still looking.”

Jack assumed an air of authority. “Gwen – go see if you can get the rest of the survivors out.” He was already striding towards the ship. “Ianto, with me and the captain.”

*

Arthur Robinson’s Lexus shot down the M4 towards Swansea, well in excess of 90 miles per hour. The stolen car had last been picked up passing an overhead gantry two miles away. It hadn’t passed the next exit. Andy gripped the door handle tightly, knuckles turning white.

“What the hell is this racket?” he shouted above the music blaring from the speakers.

“Dizzy Gillespie, you heathen,” Robinson yelled back.

Andy sighed internally. How had he got himself into this? He would almost prefer to be wrestling drunks with Brian bloody Anderson than heading off on a wild goose chase with this arrogant maniac being blasted by discordant jazz. He clocked that they were approaching an exit with Robinson still in the outside lane.

“This one?” Robinson shouted.

Most of the signs had been a blur but Andy thought he’d seen the correct junction number a mile back. “I think so!”

Robinson accelerated hard to pass a car, swung across in front of it, tyres bumping on the cats’ eyes in the hard shoulder, and shot up the slip road without slowing.

“Indicators might be nice,” Andy muttered.

“I didn’t know I was going to be partnered with a killjoy,” Robinson shot back. “Maybe I should have gone for the other guy.”

“All I’m saying is that we can’t preach road safety if we don’t practice it,” Andy retorted.

Robinson gave a shrug. “It’s an emergency.”

“Then protocol states we should have the light on,” Andy reminded him testily.

“Police lights on a soft top?” Robinson scoffed. “Ruins the ascetic.”

“And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Absolutely not,” Robinson agreed as he slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt at a set of traffic lights. The roads were virtually empty at this time of night but Andy was still glad that Robinson was choosing to respect red lights. He had some limits, after all.

“Which way?”

Andy shrugged. “No idea. No cameras now we’re off the motorway.”

“I think it’s right,” Robinson declared.

“What makes you say that?”

“That,” Robinson said, pointing out through the windscreen to the lights and steaming wreckage blazing on the hillside away to their right. Andy couldn’t argue that there was certainly something suspicious about it. At the first glimpse of an amber light, Robinson had his foot on the accelerator as he squealed round the roundabout in the direction of the crash site.

*

The torchlight flickered eerily in the dark cabin as Gwen struggled against the steep angle of the gangway in her suit. The emergency lighting bathed the whole space in an unnerving green glow. Gwen let her torch beam play over the rows of passengers, strapped in and motionless. She examined the man on the end of the row closest to her. He stared back with lifeless, glassy eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she moved on. She had seen so much death working for both the police and Torchwood that she couldn’t dwell on it. She had to move on.

Her breath was loud in her ears under the protection of the suit but she stopped when something else broke the silence. There was a quiet whimpering coming from nearby. Gwen turned slowly, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, and spotted a woman a few rows back who was clawing weakly at her seatbelt.

“Oh God – can you hear me?” Gwen called, rushing over. “I’m here to help. Just hang on a moment.” She scrabbled at the woman’s seatbelt, fumbling with the unwieldly gloves of her suit. Eventually, the buckle popped open.

“Can you hear me?” Gwen repeated. The woman groaned and opened her eyes. “You’re going to be ok, alright?” Gwen reassured her. “We just need to get you out of here, ok?” The woman gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Hello?”

Gwen looked up, startled.

“Hello?” the voice repeated.

Standing on the other side of the cabin, Gwen saw a boy. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen by the looks of him. One of his bare arms had an angry graze down it but otherwise he appeared fine.

“Hello,” Gwen greeted him.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

“You need to get out of here,” Gwen told him.

“I’m fine,” the boy assured her. “I’ll help you get her out.” He clambered over the seats to reach her. “I’m Natt.”

“Gwen. Can you get her other arm?”

Together, they lifted the woman out of her seat and half carried, half dragged her towards the door.

*

The shuttle’s engine room boasted an impressive bank of controls. Lights blinked amongst the array dials and toggle switches. Captain Samuels had to confess to only a vague understanding of how it all worked. She knew how to fly the shuttle – she left the engines to the engineers. She and Ianto, the one in the Hazmat suit, watched as Jack, the one in the old-fashioned coat, ran his finger up and down the rows of controls as if re-familiarising himself with something he knew well.

“We need to find the code in this bank that matches that bank,” Jack explained eventually, pointing to two separate digital displays that were ticking through seemingly random five-digit numbers. “When we’ve got the two codes, we put them into the central computer and it should vent the radiation from the damaged engine into the working one. Then we can use the manual override to shut it all down.”

“How do you know all that?” Ianto asked, an impressed note to his tone.

“I took a course in school,” Jack stated.

“I love it when you go full nerd,” Ianto told him drily.

“I know.” Jack grinned and bumped Ianto’s shoulder with his own.

Samuels was about to suggest they leave the flirting for later and get on with fixing the engine when an insistent beeping interrupted them. Jack pulled back the sleeve of his coat to reveal a leather strap on his wrist. He flipped it open, tapped a few buttons and studied it, frowning.

“Rift alert,” Jack said eventually, baffled. “On the flight deck.”

“That’s at the other end of the ship,” Samuels told him.

“I’ll go and check it out,” Jack said. “Keep watching the screen and stop it when the codes match. Ok?”

“Yes sir.” Ianto gave a mock salute, as best he could with the thick gloves on, and Jack left the room. Ianto turned to Samuels. “So – we just keep looking, I guess.”

“I guess,” she agreed, with a weak smile. As Ianto returned to studying the displays, she felt another shiver pass through her body. She took a deep breath to steady herself but that only prompted a coughing fit. She hacked away, trying to clear her throat. Ianto glanced at her with a sympathetic smile before turning back to his vigil. Samuels took her hand away from her mouth. It was covered in flecks of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sciencey-wiencey la-la-la...


	4. Chapter Three

Jack put his shoulder to the door in front of him which had been bent out of shape in the crash. After a few moments of brute force, it swung open with a metallic clang and Jack stumbled forward into the space beyond. His nostrils filled with an overpowering scent it took him a second to place. Farmyard, his brain eventually supplied. This was the livestock hold.

He stepped forward in the gloom, holding his sleeve over his nose to block out a stench understandable for a hold full of terrified animals. He took out his torch and flashed it into the cages as he passed them. In most, the sheep, goats, cattle and poultry lay limp and lifeless.

He paused at the sound of whimpering and backtracked. His torchlight caught the reflection of a pair of shining eyes. A brown mongrel dog pushed its nose through the bars of its cage, tail twitching uncertainly as though undecided whether this human represented more danger or salvation.

Jack squatted in front of the cage and held out his hand. The dog licked his palm eagerly, tail wagging with more enthusiasm now. Jack sighed. “Sorry buddy – can’t stop.”

He stood and headed for the next door that would take him towards the flight deck. Ignoring the dog's distressed barking, Jack forced his way through the door and on through the shuttle.

*

Outside the shuttle, Gwen and Natt gently lowered the woman they had retrieved onto the grass beside a group of other survivors. She slumped sideways onto the shoulder of another woman who seemed in slightly better shape.

Gwen stood up and looked back towards the shuttled. “How many more people are still in there?” she asked Natt.

He shrugged. “No idea.” He looked younger in the moonlight; thinner and more afraid. “But there’s a baby.”

“A baby?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I couldn't work out how to do the straps.”

“Show me.”

Gwen was already striding towards the ship. Natt jogged after her and they ducked back through the warped cabin door back into the shuttle. He led her through the cabin, climbing nimbly over the seats. Gwen lumbered after him in her suit.

He stopped by a row of seats and gestured to a baby carrier, strapped into the seat. Gwen looked down at the baby who was awake and strangely quiet. She gazed up at Gwen with big, round eyes.

“Ok, sweetheart, let’s get you out of here,” Gwen murmured, reaching for the straps. The clips were stiff and too small to get a good grip on with her gloves on. Growling with frustration, Gwen tried again but she just couldn’t get hold of them.

Looking round, she realised that Natt was busy checking for survivors further down the cabin. He didn’t seem to be suffering, she thought to herself, and the other survivors seemed to be more affected by the crash than the radiation. Scrabbling at the gloves, she finally managed to wrench them off. With the relief of dexterity, she unclipped the straps of the carrier and lifted the baby onto her shoulder.

“Come here, poppet,” she soothed as she carried her out of the shuttle.

*

Jack opened the final door to the cockpit just in time to see a pair of black boots descending through the hatch above him. His hand went straight for his Webley and he trained it steadily on the legs that were following the boots.

“Stop right there,” Jack warned.

The legs didn’t stop and a young woman in full combat gear dropped down in front of him. She grinned as she stuck her hands in the air. Jack frowned, immediately clocking the vortex manipulator strapped to her left wrist.

His eyes narrowed. “Are you a Time Agent?”

“For God’s sake Jack,” she laughed.

Jack’s frown deepened in confusion. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m Torchwood,” she explained simply.

“I don’t think so,” Jack retorted.

“Can I – get my ID out?” she asked.

Reluctantly, Jack lowered his gun and she reached into her pocket to take out an ID badge. She passed it over. Jack flipped it open and was confronted by the familiar Torchwood logo. The badge stated that she was Sasha Marshall, born 18/12/2123.

Still confused but less wary, Jack handed the badge back. “Where did you get the vortex manipulator?” he asked.

“It’s yours,” Sasha told him.

Jack folded his arms and regarded her suspiciously. “Mine doesn’t work as a teleport.”

“Not yet,” Sasha agreed.

Jack reached out and grabbed her wrist. She didn’t resist as he examined the vortex manipulator, ran his fingers over the familiar worn leather and flipped open the cover to reveal a control layout that he could navigate with his eyes closed. Jack let her arm drop and took a step back.

“Why would I give it to you?” he asked guardedly.

Sasha tilted her head and looked up at him with an unreadable expression. “You looked at me as though you’d seen a ghost the first time we met,” she said eventually. “Swept me off me feet. I thought I was the luckiest girl alive. And then you told me about this. About what I had to do.”

*

Ianto forced his eyes open as the numbers on the displays began to blur again. They were starting to ache from staring at the red digits for so long but he worried that if he looked away, even for a second, he might miss the crucial matching figures. Captain Samuels stood sentinel beside him, though he couldn’t help but notice that she was leaning heavily on the control panel. She wasn’t suited up like him and Ianto supposed that the radiation might be beginning to affect her.

Just at that moment, she turned away from him and coughed violently. The coughing sounded wet and went on too long for comfort. In his concern, Ianto dragged his eyes away from the screens.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

Samuels looked round at him, a grim expression on her face. Ianto could see the specks of blood on her chin. “No, I don’t think so,” Samuels admitted.

“You have to get out of here,” Ianto told her, trying to guide her towards the door.

She pushed him away and shook her head vehemently. “I knew,” she said flatly. “I knew this thing wasn’t fit for service.”

“What?”

“I knew,” Samuels repeated. “And I took the commission anyway. For the money. It’s my fault.”

“Plenty of time for assigning blame when you’re well again,” Ianto assured her. “You have to get out of here.”

She shook her head again and returned to her post watching the screen. “I have to help you stop the radiation leak, that’s what I have to do.”

Ianto had met people like Samuels before. He wasn’t going to change her mind. “Fine.” He joined her back at the screen just as his earpiece came to life.

“Any luck with the engine yet?” Gwen’s asked.

“We’re working on it,” Ianto told her. “Jack’s checking out a rift alert from somewhere else in the ship. How are you getting on? Many survivors?”

“Some. Most of them are in a bad way though,” she reported.

“Hopefully this won’t take much longer.”

There was a pause and Ianto wondered if Gwen was still there. “I think we should call for some ambulances Ianto,” she said eventually.

Ianto couldn’t help but agree with her. “Give it five,” he suggested. “We can’t expose more people to this. And we need a cover story.”

“Five minutes then,” Gwen agreed. “No longer.”

*

Gwen cut the connection over the comms and looked around the field. There were at least thirty people out of the shuttle now, sitting around on the grass looking shell-shocked. She had managed to pass the baby girl to someone and she was wailing loudly now she was out in the cold night air.

Gwen turned to Natt. “Ambulances’ll be here soon,” she told him. “I’m going in for the last survivors. You stay here.”

“Not a chance,” Natt replied as he followed her back into the shuttle.


	5. Chapter Four

All Jack could see were Sasha’s legs and feet protruding from under the control panel. Crouching down, he peered into the space beyond to see what she was doing. She had an expression of immense concentration on her face as she held a screwdriver between her teeth and sorted through the tangle of coloured wires that she had pulled loose.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Jack asked.

She didn’t reply but took the screwdriver out of her mouth and removed some more screws above her. With practiced ease, she took a pair of pliers out of her pocket and began snipping at wires. Realising he wasn’t getting an answer any time soon, Jack stood back up and leant against the wall.

After a few moments, Sasha gave a grunt and wriggled out from under the control panel. She was clutching a small orange box to her chest, which she waved demonstratively as she stood up. “The black box,” she explained. “Can’t let NASA get hold of this. The Mayflower made its maiden flight in 2069. You know your history Jack.”

Jack folded his arms and frowned. “Even without the black box, how are we going to explain a great big space shuttle in a field in Wales?”

“You’ll think of something.” Sasha grinned as she stowed her tools back into the capacious pockets of her combats. “You always do.”

Jack gazed around the cockpit, running a hand over the scuffed and stained panelling around the door. “2069,” he mused. “It’s pretty old now.”

“It was leaking radiation before it even fell into the Rift,” Sasha agreed. “NASA knew, of course, but they didn’t do anything about it. Just needed to get people off Earth as quickly as possible.”

*

Gwen could barely support the weight of the man whose arm was draped around her shoulders. His leg had been crushed in the crash and he had lost a lot of blood. Mustering all the energy she could, she brought him over to join the other survivors. Behind her, Natt was carrying a young girl of about five years old in his arms.

“Rocco!” the girl screamed, tears pouring down her face. “I want Rocco!”

“Who’s Rocco sweetheart?” Gwen asked as Natt lowered the girl gently onto the grass.

“My dog,” the girl sobbed.

“He’ll be in the livestock hold,” Natt said, already sprinting back to the shuttle. “I’ll go and get him.”

“Be careful!” Gwen called as she followed him at a slower pace. Even with her gloves off, she couldn’t see her watch. How long had they been doing this? Had that five minutes passed yet? Her energy was certainly seeping away fast. One last check of the shuttle, she told herself. One last check.

*

Arthur had finally slowed down now that he was carefully making his way up a dirt track, worrying about his suspension and damaging the underside of his Lexus. The ramshackle stone walls that flanked the track seemed to be leaning uncomfortably close to his paintwork.

“Where are you taking me?” Arthur asked Andy, who was peering closely at a road atlas that Arthur hadn’t even realised was in his glovebox. “Are you sure this is right?”

“According to the map, this is the only way we’re going to get to that field,” Andy explained tetchily. He looked across and glared at Arthur. “I happen to be an excellent navigator.”

“Boy Scout?” Arthur enquired.

Andy scowled and went back to the map. It seemed as if he wasn’t going to answer and then he blurted, “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Dib dib dib,” Arthur responded sarcastically.

The enclosed track finally opened out into a field. Arthur eased the car to a halt and was about inform Andy that if they got stuck in the mud, he’d be the one pushing, when he looked up. Beside him, Andy stared up through the windscreen, similarly gobsmacked by the sight in front of them. Silhouetted against the clear night sky was the wreckage of an enormous space shuttle.

“Think she might have something to do with that?” Andy suggested eventually.

Arthur looked around the field. He saw people milling about around the shuttle, sheep grazing obliviously and the abandoned car with the registration HG14 WRD. His gaze finally came to rest on a familiar black SUV.

“Torchwood,” Arthur said.

“Of course,” Andy agreed.

Arthur looked at him in surprise. “You know about Torchwood?”

Andy raised an eyebrow and gave a quiet snort. “Just a bit.”

*

Ianto leant forward against the control panels to steady himself as he kept focused on the codes ticking over on the two displays. He had a feeling that he was going to be seeing red numbers in front of his eyes for the foreseeable future – if they managed to sort this thing.

Samuels had given up looking and was slumped on the floor, head resting on the wall behind her. Ianto’s vigil was punctuated now and then by her coughing fits. Another fit seized her and, out of the corner of his eye, Ianto saw her slide sideways onto the floor.

He tore himself away from the screen and dashed over to her. “Captain Samuels!” He crouched down beside her and gripped her shoulders. “Captain?” Her head lolled to one side and a trickle of blood ran out of her mouth. “Shit.”

Ianto glanced around behind him and found his vision swimming from staring at the display for so long. Blinking to try and clear it, he looked back down at Samuels but he knew there was nothing he could do for her. All he could do now was continue to watch the numbers and try to find two codes that matched.

His headset came to life again in his ear. “That five minutes is up Ianto,” Gwen told him. “How’s the engine?”

“No change unfortunately,” Ianto reported. “How are things your end?”

There was a pause. Ianto could hear Gwen’s breathing in his ear. “Er…not great actually,” she admitted eventually. “I’m…I’m not feeling great.”

“In what way?” Ianto asked, worried.

There was another pause. “Feel like I had a few too many last night,” she expounded with a cough.

Ianto felt his chest tighten in panic and he glanced behind him at Samuels’ prone body. “Gwen – you have to get out of there now,” he instructed her forcefully.

“There’s just a couple more people to get out.”

“Forget about them Gwen.” Ianto realised he was almost shouting. “Your suit must be faulty. You need to get out of there now.”

“No, it’s, well, actually I…”

The line went dead.

“Gwen!” Ianto yelled. “Gwen!” There was no reply. Balling his fist, he thumped it helplessly on the control panel in front of him. “Shit, shit, shit.”


	6. Chapter Five

“What do we tell people?” Jack asked.

Sasha stood in front of him, the black box tucked under one arm and an unreadable smile on her face. “I can’t tell you,” she replied with a small shrug. “I’ve probably said too much already. This is all a paradox waiting happen.”

Jack sighed irritably. “So is my whole life.”

She merely raised an enigmatic eyebrow. “I should be off.”

Before Jack had time to react, she was on tiptoes and pressing her lips gently against his. Stunned, Jack froze and, for once in his life, his brain sent signals that an attractive young woman kissing him might not necessarily be a good thing. He was equally surprised to find his thoughts going straight to the man currently working away in the engine room. That was new.

Pulling away, Sasha grinned at him. “You never told me our first kiss wasn’t mutual.” She took a slim black case out of her pocket and handed it over. “But you did tell me to bring these.”

Jack popped open the case and saw a row of vials nestled in foam casing. A set of needles sat in a depression in the lid of the case. He didn’t need to read the name of the drug to know what the vials contained. He snapped the lid shut. “Thanks.”

“Thank your future self.” Sasha flashed him another dazzling grin. “See you Jack.” Without waiting for a response, she pressed a button on his Vortex Manipulator and disappeared.

Jack stared at the empty space where she had been and then looked down at the black case in his hands. Two fingers strayed to touch his lips thoughtfully as he considered the whole surreal experience.

*

Arthur was striding around the space shuttle at great speed, pausing only to examine possible entry points. Andy staggered after him, lugging a battering ram which he was certain policy dictated should be carried by two persons at all times.

“I’ll ask again – why am I carrying this?” Andy panted as he caught up with Arthur momentarily.

“Because you’re the grunt and I’m the brains,” Arthur told him, striding off again.

“And why do you even have a battering ram in your boot?”

“You have no idea.” Arthur wafted a hand curtly over his shoulder. “Keep up.”

*

Ianto’s brain almost didn’t process the information in front of him. He’d been staring at the codes slowly rolling over for so long that when they did match, he was almost too late to stop them.

“Fuck,” he swore, slamming his fist down on the pause button with a split second to spare before the numbers ticked on again.

Shaking his head to focus himself, he ran through the brief instructions Jack had given him before he left. With some difficulty, given the bulky size of his protective glove, he laboriously and meticulously punched the code into the computer.

A message flashed up on the monitor: VENTING TO FUEL TANK 1.

“Yes!” Ianto could not help giving a victory clench and pump of his fist in response.

His joy was short lived, however. An alarm started bleating somewhere above him. “Engine Room Sealed,” announced an automated voice.

“What?!” Ianto thumped the controls in frustration. He raced over to the door and yanked fruitlessly at it. Desperately, he returned to the control panels, scanning them for something that might give him a clue how to open the engine room doors.

His search was interrupted by Jack’s voice in his ear. “Ianto – how’s it going with the engine?”

Ianto pulled a face even though Jack couldn’t see it. “It’s, er, sorted,” he replied evasively.

“Great.” It sounded as though Jack was on the move. “I’m on my way back down.”

“You have to get to Gwen, Jack,” Ianto told him quickly. “She said she was feeling sick and then her comms cut out. I think she’s in the cabin somewhere.”

“Ok. I’ll go to her,” Jack said. “Meet you there.”

“Well, I’m sort of stuck here,” Ianto admitted.

“What?” Jack asked, confused. Ianto could tell from his breathing that Jack had stopped in his tracks.

“The engine room doors sealed when the engines started venting,” Ianto explained apologetically. “I can’t seem to get them open.”

Ianto could almost hear the whirring of Jack’s brain across the airwaves. “I’ll come and get you.”

“No, you need to go to Gwen,” Ianto told him firmly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ok,” Jack conceded. Ianto could hear the reluctance in his voice but this was a choice Ianto was going to save Jack and his hero complex from making. “But keep the suit on, ok?” Jack warned. “The radiation levels will still be high.”

“Will do,” Ianto assured him.

“I’m going to get Gwen, and then I’m coming back for you, ok?”

“Ok.” Ianto broke the connection and went back to examining the controls. There must be some way to override the door seals. There had to be.

*

Jack sprinted through the space shuttle, leaping over piles of debris that had fallen in the crash, his mind in turmoil. Save Gwen. Save Ianto. Save Gwen. Save Ianto. He tried to keep all other thoughts at bay – there would be plenty of time for torturous self-examination later. Bursting into the cabin, he searched frantically until he spotted a pair of legs emerging from behind one of the rows of seating. In an instant, he was by Gwen’s side and had her scooped up into his arms.

When he had reached what he deemed to be a safe distance from the shuttle, Jack laid Gwen down on the grass. His anxious fingers fumbled the drugs that Sasha had given him out of his pocket and set them down on the ground beside him. He tore open Gwen’s Hazmat suit and scrabbled at her clothes to find the first available piece of flesh. With shaking hands, he inserted the needle into the vial, gave a testing air shot and then plunged it into Gwen’s abdomen.

Nothing happened. He had no idea how the drugs worked or how quickly they would take effect. He looked down at Gwen’s face behind the suit visor. Her skin was pale and clammy behind the fogged-up plastic. Her chest was rising and falling but her breathing was shallow. Squatting on his haunches beside her, Jack took hold of Gwen’s hand. Something felt wrong. He stared down at her red and blistered hand in horror. Was he too late?

*

There were no helpful controls in the whole of the bloody engine room, Ianto had concluded. He had given up trying to interpret the myriad switches, dials and displays and was now engaged in emptying the overhead storage lockers in the hopes of finding some kind of instruction manual. Ianto would always be an enthusiastic advocate of a well-written instruction manual. Suddenly, he heard a soft ping in his ear. Looking down in confusion, he caught sight of the oxygen gauge on his suit. The needle was in the red.


	7. Chapter Six

Jack had been in this position far more times than he cared for: cradling someone he cared about in his arms whilst their life hung in the balance. And the outcome of these situations rarely went his way. Just another facet of the cruel joke the universe was having at his expense.

The field around the crashed shuttle was dotted with survivors, terrified and directionless, waiting for someone with some authority to tell them what to do. Jack knew that should be him, really, but he was tired and confused and didn’t know what to do either. He’d run out of ideas. Behind him, the girl was still screaming.

Suddenly, Gwen’s eyes flickered open and rolled slowly round in their sockets. They were glassy and there was no recognition when she met Jack’s gaze. Before he could say anything, her body jerked in an agonising spasm and she vomited all over the grass. Breathing ragged, her eyes closed again.

Jack clenched his jaw hard against the terror rippling to the end of every nerve in his body and made his decision. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this by himself.

Gently moving Gwen to one side, he took his phone out of his pocket and dialled. “Ambulance please.”

As he replied on autopilot to the operator, Jack glanced down at his watch. It had been fifteen minutes since he had spoken to Ianto. He needed to get Ianto out of that engine room but he daren't leave Gwen. Save Gwen. Save Ianto. The mantra went round and round in his head again until the operator called his attention back. Jack gave his Torchwood authorisation, their location and a brief rundown on the situation. He hung up and looked despairingly around him.

“Rocco!” the girl cried, breaking into his thoughts. She was on her feet and running towards the dog Jack had seen in the hold who was bounding across to her, tail wagging like mad. She embraced the dog who licked her face and barked excitedly.

The dog was followed by Natt, who gave a weak smile at the reunion, before collapsing onto his knees. His chin flopped onto his chest and he slumped forward into the damp earth.

Jack lowered Gwen to the ground and rushed over to him. He took out the case of drugs and plunged a needle into the boy’s stomach. Natt began to shake and suddenly he was vomiting violently, over and over.

“Come on kid,” Jack pleaded.

The shaking became spasms that contorted the boy’s body, his spine arching and the muscles straining in his neck. He shook, mouth foaming and lips blistering. In less than a minute, it was over. He lay still on the grass, his eyes open and staring lifelessly up at the night sky.

*

The ambulances arrived surprisingly quickly. They drew up in the field like a procession of slow-moving bugs, their flashing blue lights illuminating the scene as though it were some ghoulish disco. The paramedics were surprised by Jack’s cock and bull story of space tourism trials gone wrong but Sasha had been right – he always did think of something when he was put on the spot. Nevertheless, they had set to, treating the victims as best they could and preparing them for their journey to hospital.

Jack finally stirred himself into taking some kind of charge of the situation. He assured the paramedics that the crash was being taken care of and managed to distribute as many of the vials of anti-radiation drugs as he could, saving one back. Perhaps selfishly but, then again, he felt he was owed a little selfishness now and then.

Gwen was the last to be strapped onto a stretcher and loaded into the back of one of the ambulances. Jack watched as the doors slammed shut and the ambulance began its slow lurching journey out of the field.

*

Ianto wondered if oxygen gauges worked like fuel gauges in cars; if they went onto the red a good fifty miles before you actually needed to fill up. He was beginning to suspect that this was not the case since his vision was blurry and his lungs were starting to ache.

He tried to stay calm and take only slow, shallow breaths but he was now fighting his own body’s panic. He had to do it, he decided. He had to take the risk and take off the suit. He moved his hands to the fastenings, feeling oddly as if he were floating but that his limbs were made of lead. His hands wouldn’t obey his brain and he couldn’t focus on the fastenings.

Jack’s voice came painfully loud in his ear. “An ambulance has just taken Gwen. I’m on my way to you.”

The desperate part of Ianto’s brain wanted to shout for Jack to hurry, to confess a thousand other things, but his rational brain won out, telling himself not to waste precious oxygen on a reply.

Jack’s panicked voice yelling his name was the last thing Ianto heard before he passed out.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one!

Somewhere, at the edge of Ianto’s consciousness, came an almighty, splintering crash. A few seconds later, cool night air suddenly rushed against his cheeks and Ianto opened his eyes with an almighty intake of breath. A face swam in his blurry vision as a pair of hands wrestled his suit off him. Eventually, the face came into focus, grinning down at him.

“Ianto Jones – always a pleasure,” Arthur Robinson announced.

*

Jack felt as though he was running in circles as he sprinted around the crashed shuttle, desperately searching for the door to the engine room. Surely he must have passed it by now? He ran one hand along the side of the shuttle, wondering if the door was somehow hidden from obvious sight, when movement up ahead caught his attention.

He skidded to a sudden halt and stared at the figure walking towards him.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Ianto told him dryly, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

“Ianto!”

Without thinking, Jack lengthened his stride until he had Ianto in his arms, hugging him tightly and burying his face into his neck. He felt Ianto sag gratefully against him. Once he had reassured himself that Ianto was indeed alive and well, Jack became aware of two people stood behind him. Andy Davidson was awkwardly poking at the ground with his toe whilst the other man…

“What the hell is he doing here?” Jack snapped, letting go of Ianto and scowling at Arthur.

“Saving Ianto’s life,” Arthur suggested cattily.

Jack put his hands on his hips and turned to Ianto with a quizzical expression. “He seems to remember us.” The last time Torchwood had been involved with Detective Inspector Arthur Robinson, Jack distinctly remembered tasking Ianto with retconning the whole incident from his memory.

“Lucky for me,” Ianto croaked hopefully.

Jack took in Ianto’s bedraggled appearance, his bloodshot eyes and flushed skin, and his tattered Hazmat suit hanging loosely at his waist, and realised he was too relieved to be really mad. His face twitched painfully as he held out his hand for Arthur to shake.

“Thanks,” Jack managed to squeeze out.

“You’re welcome.”

Arthur folded his arms and smirked. Jack was almost ready to take his thanks back when his irritation was interrupted by Andy pointedly clearing his throat.

“He helped too,” Arthur said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“I carried the battering ram,” Andy informed them all with a note of pride.

“Ok. Well, thanks too.” Jack clapped Andy on the shoulder.

“Gwen?” Ianto asked, bringing them all back to the matter at hand.

“Not good,” Jack told him, his relief fading back to fear again. “She’s gone to hospital. You’ll all need to go too.” He took out the black case and opened it, showing Ianto the lone vial inside. “And you’ll need this. Anti-radiation.”

Ianto took the vial out carefully and inspected it. “I didn’t know we had any anti-radiation shots?”

“Delivery from a friend,” Jack explained, taking it from Ianto and preparing the injection. “Long story. I’ll fill you in later.”


	9. Chapter Eight

Even with everything the police force and Torchwood had thrown at her, Rhys had never seen Gwen looking so terrible. Her skin seemed almost grey, contrasting against the deep, bruised skin encircling her eyes. Her lips were dry and flaking and she lay weakly against the hospital pillows as Rhys cradled her bandaged hand gently in his and listened to the consultant who was talking to them.

“It’s too early to say, but there is a good chance that the radiation has had effects we can’t see yet,” the doctor warned them. He was a tall, wiry man, approaching middle age, with short thinning hair and a pair of rimless glasses that kept sliding down his nose. He stood awkwardly at Gwen’s bedside, mindlessly twiddling a ballpoint pen between his slender fingers.

“Such as?” Rhys asked, his throat dry with the uncertainty.

“Damage to organs,” the doctor replied. “Cancer cells. I would suggest regular testing so we can catch anything as soon as possible.”

Rhys blinked, assimilating the information. Gwen interrupted the jumbled panic in his mind.

“What about…” she began hesitantly. “What about kids?”

“Reproduction?” the doctor queried.

“Yeah.”

“It’s too early to say,” the doctor repeated, with a flicker of a tight smile. “I’ll arrange for some tests.”

He gave a short nod and turned to leave the room. Rhys’ nerves flared as he saw who he passed as he left the ward. Jack, in his ridiculous coat, followed by an impeccably turned out Ianto, strode down the room towards them.

Jack flashed one of those matinee grins when he saw Gwen sitting up in bed. “Gwen, it’s…”

Rhys stood up, blocking his way and cutting off his sentence. Jack had a good half foot on him but when it came to his wife, Rhys was not easily intimidated. His heckles were up. “You’ve got a nerve,” he snarled at Jack.

Jack bristled, eyes turning cold. “Excuse me?” he queried.

“Showing up here, after what you’ve just put her through,” Rhys spat.

“Our line of work is dangerous, Rhys,” Jack retorted, eyes narrowing. “You know that.”

“Yes, I bloody do,” Rhys hissed back.

“Rhys…” Gwen protested weakly from behind him but the red mist was down.

“She might have cancer and it’s all your fault!” Rhys yelled, stepping right into Jack’s personal space.

Jack took a step back and hung his head, letting Rhys’ words ring through the ward. Heads craned from beds where the occupants were able; visitors averted their eyes and the ward fell silent. “I should go,” Jack mumbled, turning and marching off without another word.

Rhys found that his chest was heaving and his heart pounding after the confrontation. He glared at Ianto whose lips were pressed together in an unreadable expression.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Ianto said quietly, before following Jack out of the room.

*

Ianto was worried that Jack had done a runner up onto a rooftop or perhaps even further afield. He was relieved although somewhat disconcerted to find him in the corridor, vigorously thumping the vending machine. Ianto stepped calmly up behind him.

“You know, it helps if you put money in,” he said.

Jack placed both palms on the machine and rocked it violently. “I have,” he growled. “And now my crisps are stuck.” He gave the machine another futile thump.

“Ah. Then thumping it won’t work,” Ianto told him. He squatted down and reached around behind it. “The best way…” He wrenched out the plug. “Is to turn it off and…” He pushed the plug back in. “On again.”

The vending machine whirred back into life and Jack’s pickled onion Monster Munch dropped down into the tray.

“Simple reboot,” Ianto explained. “These things are mostly controlled by software these days.”

Jack reached in and took his crisps out. “Thanks.”

He slumped down on a nearby chair and opened the Monster Munch. Ianto joined him and they sat in silence as Jack contemplated the open packet.

“I’m not even hungry,” Jack muttered after a while. He set the crisps down on the neighbouring chair, leant back in his seat and sighed. “You know, sometimes I wish I was still a bastard.”

“What?”

“If people hated me then, it was ok, I deserved it,” Jack elaborated bitterly. “I try be a good man, but I just destroy people.”

“No you don’t,” Ianto reassured him.

“Yes I do,” Jack insisted. “Suzie, Tosh, Owen. Gwen...”

“You haven’t destroyed me,” Ianto murmured quietly.

Jack’s head jerked up and he gazed at Ianto in surprise. “Ianto, I…” He swallowed and looked down into his lap. “I’ll probably never remember your birthday.”

Ianto smiled. “You really think I mind?”

Jack looked up again and smiled back at him. His hand found its way onto Ianto’s thigh and they laced their fingers together, leaning back against the wall and staring ahead in comforting silence.


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long - December got crazy!!

Today, the doctor had a pencil in his hand as he spoke to them. A classic yellow-orange one with a pink rubber on the end that he was bouncing repeatedly off the clipboard containing Gwen’s notes. Rhys sat beside her bed, desperately trying to be a calming influence but radiating the same tension that Gwen could feel in every extremity of her aching body. After three days, the nausea had finally passed and the throbbing in her hands had dulled to a mild irritation but she still felt as if she’d had one too many the night before.

“I have good news,” the consultant told them both, his eyes still fixed on the notes in front of him. Gwen both felt and heard Rhys exhale a sigh of relief. “No signs of any cancers at this stage,” the consultant continued, running his pencil down the chart as if to double check what he presumably had already verified before he came to see them.

“Oh thank God,” Rhys murmured, squeezing Gwen’s shoulder a little too hard.

“And the fertility test…?” Gwen enquired tentatively.

“Came back positive.”

“So I…” She still wasn’t quite ready to relax.

“You should still be able to conceive,” the doctor confirmed, pushing his glasses up his nose as he finally looked up from the clipboard with a smile.

Gwen closed her eyes and listened to own heart pound inside her chest with joy. She hadn’t realised just how important that had been to her until this confirmation.

“You’re a very lucky woman,” the doctor told her.

Gwen opened her eyes and met Rhys’ watery-eyed, hopeful expression. She beamed at him. “I am,” she agreed.

*

Treading carefully down the ward, Jack cautiously approached Gwen’s hospital bed, a bunch of flowers in his hand and Ianto following quietly behind. He paused awkwardly a few paces away as Gwen looked up and spotted them. Rhys, sitting in the chair beside her bed, turned towards them as well. Jack ignored him and looked only at Gwen.

He held up the flowers. “It’s not exactly a white flag, but…”

“Oh, come here, Jack,” Gwen laughed, beckoning him over.

He stepped closer to the bed and proffered the flowers in her direction. “These are for you.”

“Not for me?” Rhys enquired dryly.

Jack finally turned to face him. “Er…”

Rhys shook his head with raised eyebrows. “I’ll leave you to it,” he told them, getting to his feet. He bent to kiss Gwen gently on the forehead before disappearing off down the ward.

Jack took his place in the chair beside her and Ianto dragged another chair to sit down at the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling?” Jack asked.

“Rough,” Gwen admitted. “But not too bad, considering.”

“Good.” Jack nodded, unsure how to continue.

Gwen seemed to sense this and helped him out. “It wasn’t your fault Jack,” she said quietly.

“I keep taking you into danger,” Jack sighed. “Both of you.”

“I took my gloves off,” Gwen told him.

Jack blinked at her, processing this new information. “What?”

“I took my gloves off,” Gwen repeated. “I couldn’t undo the straps with them on.”

Jack slowly closed his eyes, rubbed his fingertips over his eyelids and then opened them again. He looked at Gwen and shook his head. “You idiot.”

“Yes,” Gwen agreed. “Exactly.” There was a short silence. Gwen picked at her sheets with reddened hands. Her skin was flaking but the blistering had gone down. Jack stared at her hands; a reminder of how close she had come.

Gwen saw him staring and tucked her hands away out of sight. “What happened to the survivors?” she asked.

“There were only five in the end,” Jack told her.

“Natt?”

Jack shook his head. “He didn’t make it.”

“Poor kid.”

Jack caught sight of Gwen’s glistening eyes and moved on swiftly. “The rest are in hospital, waiting to be integrated into society,” he explained. “A hundred years’ time – it’s not so different. They’ll fit in.”

“What about the ship?” she enquired.

“Broken up for scrap metal.” Ianto spoke for the first time. “We said it was a satellite, fallen out of orbit.”

Gwen contemplated this information for a moment. “So - no loose ends,” she mused eventually.

Jack gave her a tight, unreadable smile. “No," he agreed. "No loose ends."


End file.
